Wrath of the Storm
by PerpetuallyPlaid
Summary: Raymont Baratheon was born as the fourth son to Steffon Baratheon. While his brothers ran the Seven Kingdoms, Raymont enjoyed life as a tourney knight, traveling the Seven Kingdoms with over a dozen skilled knights. That was, until he decided to attend the tourney of the Hand, where he was ensnared in plots of murder, deception, and the game of thrones.
1. Chapter 1

Ser Raymont Baratheon was a knight without peer in The Seven Kingdoms, bar but a few. At the young age of nine and ten, he was the victor of tourneys held throughout the realm, winning his first tourney at five and teen, that had been held for one of Prince Joffrey's name days. He was the youngest of the four Baratheon brothers, but he enjoyed a freedom that none of them did, as he traveled the southron kingdoms, journeying to melees and tourneys all throughout the kingdoms.

Thus, he was dreading the fact that he would be forced to return to the capitol for the return of the court to King's Landing, with the new Hand of the King, Eddard Stark. There would be a tourney in his honor, and as it was being held in King's Landing, and there would be no tourneys held elsewhere, Raymont would be forced to compete in it, and of course present himself to the rest of the court at King's Landing. A dreadful ordeal, in Raymont's eyes.

Currently, Raymont was in Sunspear, after participating in a tourney to celebrate Princess Arianne's name day, where he had won after barely besting the Bastard of Godsgrace, Ser Daemon Sand. It had been a massive melee, that had primarily featured Dornish spears and short blades, where Raymont's massive six-foot great sword, forged by master smith, Tobho Mott, had given him a large advantage. Raymont was himself a head taller than six feet, and was as well-built as King Robert had been in his youth, and wielded the sword as easily as Robert had wielded his gigantic warhammer.

The winnings from tourney after tourney had begun to pile up for Raymont, and the tourney at Sunspear was just one more of several dozen. He had a personal attendance of three dozen men, knights from the Storm Lands, their squires, and his own squire, Raymund Connington, the heir to Griffon's Keep. Chief among his company of knights were Ser Gladden Wylde, Ser Alyn Estermont, Ser Rolland Storm, Ser Donnel Swann, Ser Robar Royce and Ser Emmon Cuy, and all of them were formidable knights and warriors, and honorable company as they traveled the kingdoms. As they departed Sunspear, Ser Daemon Sand accepted Raymont's offer to join their company, and became the first Dornishman to do so, joining men from The Vale, The Stormlands, and The Reach.

They took the journey to King's Landing by boat, sailing from Sunspear and arriving little more than a week later in King's Landing, the day before the Hand's Tourney, as the smallfolk were calling it. Awaiting them at the docks were Lord Yohn Royce, Robar's father, and his brother Andar. Bryce Caron, Rolland Storm's true born brother, and Balon Swann, Donnel's younger brother who joined the kingsguard, were also waiting for them. As Raymont and his companions departed the boat, he took a moment to look at his companions, as they greeted their family with handshakes or embraces, thinking on how his own family that was present in King's Landing had not even bothered, though he had sent a letter to Robert and Renly both.

Standing to the side, Raymont felt out of place as servants busied themselves unloading belongings, weapons and armor, as his servants and those of the Red Keep attempted to work together, while stable hands led the horses on the long trek to the stables. Raymont whistled to get the attention of his closest companions, Gladden Wylde, and Rolland Storm, and grabbed the arm of Daemon Sand as they passed him, standing aimlessly. The bastard was one of the best swords to be found in Dorne, but was clearly out of place already, as Dorne was a much different place. They were in King's Landing, and Raymont had a fat purse of gold dragons to spend, and they had an entire day before the tourney began.

* * *

When morning came, Raymont awoke in a large bed, in a very plain room, clearly an inn, with no idea how he had gotten there. Shifting out of the bed, Raymont realized that he was as naked as the day he was born, and that there were in fact three other people who were passed out on the bed. Two of them were women that Raymont would never know the name of, while the other was Daemon Sand, his sandy hair covering his face, where he had fallen asleep on rather generously sized pillows. Raymont woke him up, much to his complaints, though the two of them were dressed and leaving the inn within five minutes, as the women still slept.

Running damage control, Raymont counted that he had managed to hang onto about half of the tourney winnings from Sunspear, which was more than he had expected. It was still early in the day, and though the two of them could not recall where in seven hells that Gladden was, they vaguely remembered him falling prey to a brothel woman, leaving the two women that had accompanied Raymont and Daemon to bed. 'All said and done, not a bad night to get ready for a tourney.'

It took an hour for the two to find their way to the Red Keep, and to find out where their assigned quarters and belongings were. Apparently, Raymont and his entire company were given quarters all next to each other, no small task for three dozen men. As they passed the rooms of the others, only about half of the rooms were occupied, meaning that most of the other men had gone out to enjoy the special quality of King's Landing: the cheapest brothels.

Wherever the men had gone, and no matter what kind of night that they may have had, within two hours they were all assembled at the stables, in full armor, and mounting their horses. It did not take long to ride out to the tourney grounds, though theirs was one of the last major parties to arrive, all 19 knights, with 18 squires between them, only Daemon not having his own squire as of yet. Many times, Raymont's brother Robert complained about how he could not simply get up and join their company, and as everyone began to prepare themselves for the tourney, and Ray spotted his brother already seated to await the beginning of the jousts, that he would be complaining once more.

Things were a blur, as Ray was told of his position in the lists, and that his first opponent would be the victor of Harwin of Winterfell against Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard. The victor was Ser Meryn, who was easily one of the weakest members of the Kingsguard, and Raymont unseated him in 2 passes. Then, Raymont seated himself beside his entire company in the stands, seated away from most Lords and Ladies, while each man had to get up to take their turn in the lists. Daemon had little skill with lance, and he was bested by Ser Loras Tyrell, who Raymont had heard had beaten Jaime Lannister in a smaller tourney at King's Landing, while he was away in Dorne. Meanwhile, Barriston Selmy unseated Donnel and Alyn, before falling to the kingslayer, in turn. Gregor Clegane defeated Gladden in a sadly one-sided joust, before Gregor killed the newly knighted Ser Hugh, which caused a recession of the jousts.

Seated next to Daemon, who had removed his armor after falling in his joust, Raymont noticed something that seemed peculiar, "That man, Ser Hugh, was the squire for Lord Jon Arryn before he passed. Who knighted him, and why did the man have a brand new set of armor?"

Before Daemon could even comment, however, Raymund was yelling at Raymont to prepare himself for the more intensive part of his day. It was a very large tournament, and as such, Raymont faced Ser Balon Swann, his friend Ser Robar Royce, Lord Beric Dondarrion, and finally faced Sandor Clegane, the Hound. That was the only match that had proven to be a true challenge to Raymont, though he was eventually the winner after eleven lances were broken between the two of them.

Leaving for the day, Raymont could not but help to complain, "Over one hundred and forty contestants in that damned joust, and I couldn't have even have been matched against any one that was really fun."

Daemon laughed at that, "How many spears did you break against The Hound before he went down? Seven? Eight?" He was riding beside Ray while most of the others were with family that had arrived for the tourney, "I would dare to say that Raymont Baratheon struggled to beat Sandor Clegane, not even a knight! Now how can our company follow such a man, that struggles to beat a man that is not even a knight?"

Raymont scoffed at Daemon's mocking, "Daemon, you fell-"

Raymont was quickly cut off, though, "To the damned Knight of FLOWERS, I think I would know. But I didn't see you face off against the Knight of Flowers, either! And first, you have to unseat Jaime Lannister, and hope that the Tyrell boy manages to beat the Mountain Who Rides, of all people."

Sensing the opportunity to make a gamble, Raymont laughed with him, "One hundred gold dragons says that I unseat Jaime Lannister, that Loras Tyrell beats The Mountain, and then I unseat the Tyrell flower."

Daemon grinned, "Fair deal, Baratheon, I feel as if I will be 100 gold dragons richer, tomorrow."

Silence reigned between them, until they rode back into King's Landing through the River Gate, and a thought struck Raymont, "Daemon, it just occurred to me that it is now sundown, and I did not see Gladden at the tourney. I haven't seen him since he left us at some point last night, actually."

Daemon shrugged, "Likely, you are worried over nothing at all. Gladden is his own man, he can choose whether or not he goes to a tourney."

"Yes, he can make his own choices, but it is strange that he disappeared as he did, without word. Strange enough that I would call it suspicious, and something worth worrying over." Raymont was not the eldest among his own company, and he was not even the most prestigious, though as brother to the King, and an outstanding knight, that was changing. But all the same, he felt responsible for each person in his party, knight, squire or otherwise. So as far as Ser Raymont of House Baratheon was concerned, something needed to be done to locate his friend.

That something ended up being the organizing of search parties formed among the knights and squires of Raymont's company. Four hours later, they found him, though it was not how Raymont would have liked to have him found. It was Ser Emmon Cuy who found him, with his squire, a fifteen year old, the sun of some guard at Sunhouse that Emmon was friends with. It was his squire that Emmon sent to find Raymont, and tell him where he was.

Ser Gladden Wylde was one of the best knights in the company, and was the best with a war lance, though Raymont was more proficient with the longer tourney lances. Was, because his throat had been slit, and he had been left for dead in a ditch. Best as Raymont could tell, someone slit his throat while he was leaving the brothel, and killed him before he could react. He still had his purse on him, and his sword was still sheathed when he had been attacked.

Raymont had raged and cursed when he had arrived to see his friend, dead, and had nearly beaten to death an incompetent gold cloak who simply shrugged and said that nothing could be done. He made his way into Maegor's holdfast, burst into his eldest brother's rooms, and berated the half-drunk, half-asleep King, about his worthless gold cloaks. That had been a mistake, as Robert was completely enraged at Raymont for waking him from his drunken sleep, and had done nothing but tell him to piss off, and to come back in the morning.

He should have expected nothing more from his fat, whoremonger brother, poor excuse for a lord, let alone a king. Stannis would have been reliable, and sought justice for the man who would have once been his own bannerman, but Stannis had retreated to Dragonstone, and left the court. Raymont did not, and would not speak to Renly, about anything at all. So that left one man that Raymont could turn to, Eddard Stark, who's tourney he was fighting in after all.

It was very late by the time that Raymont found himself in the solar, in the Tower of the Hand, staring at the solemn Lord Ned Stark, as he set aside a letter he was reading, to indicate for Raymont to be seated. Instead of immediately addressing the issue, Eddard began with mostly empty pleasantries, as had to be expected of the Hand of the King. He expressed his gladness to finally meet Robert's youngest brother, the only knight among the four, and smiled easily at Raymont, which surprised Raymont, though he rebuffed Lord Stark's small talk.

"I am not here for pleasantries and small talk, Lord Stark. I am here because at some point in this last day, my friend Ser Gladden Wylde was murdered, and had his throat slit after leaving a house of pleasure. The murderer took none of his gold, nor the castle forged steel sword at his side, and killed him simply to kill him. House Wylde is small, and loyal to House Baratheon to the core, with no enemies. The only reason that anyone would have to kill Gladden, is because he is and was my best friend among my company of knights."

Eddard was slow and calculating with his words, "Why would you think that someone would murder your friend just to get to you? You have a suspect in mind already, then."

Raymont nodded, "Yes, I do. Three and a half years ago, when I was still only fifteen, and recently knighted, I participated in my first tourney. I accidentally killed Ser Horas Redwyne in a melee, where I struck him upon his helm too hard, and he dropped dead. A terrible thing, but his twin brother has sworn vengeance upon me, and in private, told me he would kill my own elder brother one day. I scoffed and told him I hold no love for Robert, Stannis or Renly, and he stormed away in his grief. A cutthroat killing my closest friend, the day I arrive in King's Landing is no coincidence, Lord Stark."

Eddard was silent for a few moments, as he contemplated what Raymont had told him, "All that you have told me is not enough to convict anyone in a trial, let alone the heir to a noble house, Ser. But you must know that, so why did you come to me? Surely Robert or Renly would be more suited to the task of getting justice for your friend? Robert is King, and Renly is Master of Laws."

Raymont frowned, a rare thing for his usually smiling face, "I went to Robert, and the oaf was drunk and asleep already, and that Lannister kingsguard, Meryn Trant, let me in without even a warning. I do not speak to Renly."

Eddard was surprised by Raymont's dismissal of Renly, "Surely though, they are your brothers and would help you, for the sake of justice?"

Raymont laughed dryly at that, "The only sort of justice that King Robert cares about anymore is the kind other people do the work for, surely you know that by now. And Renly is more a boy than a man, extravagant and too friendly by a half with the Tyrells, who are close kin to the Redwynes. Lady Ollena was born a Redwyne, and her eldest daughter married her nephew, Paxter."

Nodding slowly, Eddard asked, "But what is it that you would have me do, Ser? All you have are suspicions and accusations."

Raymont adjusted in his chair, straightening himself out. In that moment, Eddard observed his sea blue eyes, dark black hair, strong jawline, muscular build and how he seemed every bit the warrior Robert used to be. "I beat a gold cloak half to death for refusing to help me find the man who killed Gladden, and that man was apparently Jonos Slynt, captain of the city watch. When I win the joust tomorrow, I want you to name me as the new commander of the city watch."

Now Eddard understood, what it was that had brought Ser Raymont Baratheon to his solar, just hours before midnight. "Okay, Ser Raymont, I agree, and afterward, I will do all I can to help you find justice. In return, I ask that you swear to loyally serve Robert and I."

That was agreeable, and Raymont nodded his head swiftly, "I do so swear to serve you, and my brother Robert, loyally. The gold cloaks are a pitiful excuse, and useless mostly. I will reform them to be a better, more honorable brotherhood."

With that, Raymont took his leave of Lord Eddard Stark, now someone he counted as his first powerful friend and ally in King's Landing. Now he just had to win the tournament, the next morning.

* * *

Author's Note: Another story idea, and this one I like a lot. I started it with nothing more than the base idea of a fourth Baratheon brother. It grew out of my idea that that boy would be a mix somewhere between Robert and Renly, with a bit of Stannis' honor as well. He was a squire who became a prominent tourney knight, and built a rather considerable wealth, as he won tourney after tourney. The Baratheons have always been the most fearsome warriors in Westeros, and Raymont is no exception, he is a brilliant warrior, and better tempered than Robert, who was a man of passions.

This chapter totally wrote itself, as all I had planned was a Baratheon knight, with a company of fellow knights and squires, similar to Edmure Tully's group that toured the Riverlands, though Raymont's group goes to all the best tourneys, where he or one of his knights is always victorious. I ended up starting the story with the tourney of the Hand, as it seemed most fitting, where he would make an impact. I'm excited for this one, and I cannot wait to hear what you, the readers, think of the idea. I have never seen a fourth, younger baratheon brother, only legitimate children of Robert, and a bastard of Steffon Baratheon.


	2. Chapter 2

Ned walked with the king to the jousting field. He had promised to watch the final tilts with Sansa, as Septa Mordane was ill, and his eldest daughter was determined not to miss the end of the jousts. As Robert took his place, he noted that Cercei Lannister had chosen not to appear; the place beside the king was empty. That too gave Ned cause to hope. He shouldered his way to where his daughter was seated and fund her as the horns blew for the day's first joust. Sansa was so engrossed that she scarcely seemed to notice his arrival.

The first rider to appear was Raymont Baratheon, a chiseled wall of muscle, bound within shining plate armor, with his personal coat of arms displayed on his black shield, a shining silver stag. His helm was pitch black, and bedecked with silver antlers, the only real display of opulence in his otherwise standard armor. That, and the large, black destrier he rode with pride.

"A hundred gold dragons on the Kingslayer," Littlefinger announced loudly as Jaime Lannister entered the lists, riding an elegant blood bay destrier. The horse wore a blanket of gilded ringmail, and Jaime glittered from head to heel. Even his lance was fashioned from the golden wood of the Summer Isles.

"Done," Lord Renly shouted back. "My brother has been itching for three years to ride against the Kingslayer. No one has knocked him from his horse in those three years, and I wager that Jaime Lannister won't be the first to do so."

There was mirth in Littlefinger's voice as he replied, "If he rides as well as you do, Lord Renly, I say he has no hope of winning."

Raymont rode his horse to position, quiet and serious. Meanwhile, Jaime Lannister blew a kiss to a woman in the commons, before readying himself as well. They both couched their lances, now completely focused.

They set off, both horses quickly pulling into a gallop towards the other. Raymont held himself steady, his form perfect and seemingly effortless, his strong arms holding the lance perfectly straight and lined up with Jaime Lannister's shield. In a display of his own mastery of the joust, Ser Jaime shifted slightly in his saddle, half a foot to his right. Raymont's lance passed harmlessly by the Kingslayer, and Ser Jaime's golden lance from the Summer Isles smashed into Raymont's shield, exploding into pieces from the impact.

But Raymont was barely swayed by the lance, only having to sway for a moment before he was in control once again. He pulled the reins and led his horse back to the lists, preparing himself for the next round. Jaime called his squire, who brought him a new lance, and Ned could faintly hear him make some sort of a jest to his squire.

Once again, the horses set off at a gallop, shaking the viewing stands as the horses thundered towards each other. As Raymont dipped his lance, he aimed slightly left, about four inches from the center of Jaime's shield, so that when Jaime shifted once again, he moved directly into Raymont's lance, while his own did not even land a blow on Raymont's shield.

Ser Jaime was launched backwards off his horse in an explosion of splinters, as his opponent rode victoriously past. The impact as Jaime hit the ground was severe, and it left him rolling around in the dirt for a moment.

There was a broad smile on Renly's face as he stood up and cheered for his brother, before he glanced over at Littlefinger, "I told you that Ray was eager for the joust, there was never a doubt that he would lose. If only the Imp were here, I would have won twice as much."

Jaime Lannister was back on his feet, though his golden lion helm had been twisted in his fall, and dented so that neither he, nor his squire, were able to remove the helm from his head. The commons were cheering and shouting their laughter, while those who were more noble at least attempted to hold back their laughter. And then there was Robert, roaring in laughter as he boasted, "It is good to see a Stag knock the Kingslayer from his horse!"

There was a shout from a man among the commons, that ignited the crowd further, "The Storm struck down the Lion!" That was the chant that followed Jaime Lannister as he was led by his squire to the blacksmith, stumbling and blind, "The Storm struck down the Lion!"

The King called for his youngest brother to sit beside him, in the empty seat where the Queen should have been seated, who did so, a smile across his face. Robert clapped a hand roughly onto Raymont's back, but instantly regretted it as his hand smacked the metal plate of his armor, which incited the laughter of those seated around them, as the King laughed with them.

The crowd calmed themselves, as Ser Gregor Clegane rode to the head of the lists. The Mountain Who Rides lived up to his title. The Baratheons were all big men, as was Sandor Clegane, and there was the simple-minded stableboy at Winterfell, Hodor, who stood taller than them all. But Ser Gregor was near eight feet tall, and built just as thick as Raymont was: his shoulders were massive, and his arms were like the trunks of small trees. His lance seemed more akin to be a broom handle, and the massive warhorse he rode looked to be a pony in comparison.

When Loras Tyrell made his entrance, a murmur ran through the crowd, and Sansa exclaimed, "Oh he's so beautiful!" He wore shining silver armor, and a cloak made of hundreds of forget-me-nots, woven into a woolen cloak that shimmered. His mount was a beautiful gray mare, built entirely for speed. Sansa clutched at Ned's arm, "Father, don't let Ser Gregor hurt him!" She was wearing the flower that Ser Loras had given her yesterday at the tourney, something that did not skip Ned's notice.

"These are tourney lances, they make them to splinter on impact, so no one is hurt." Even as Ned said those words, he couldn't take his mind off of the dead Ser Hugh, laying in the cart with a cloak of crescent moons.

The Knight of Flowers saluted the king, and took his place at the end of the lists, while Ser Gregor directed his animal to the line, fighting with his unwieldy steed, who had no doubt caught the scent of Loras's mare in heat. In an instant, it had started, Ser Gregor sending his steed into a wild gallop, precariously balancing his lance, while fighting with the reins. In contrast, Ser Loras took off into a smooth charge, completely in control of his steed.

While the Mountain struggled to keep his lance straight, and his shield up, Ser Loras lined up his lance easily, placing it perfectly on the Mountain's shield, and in an instant, the Mountain Who Rides, toppled from his horse, his massive bulk bringing down his horse with in a wild, tangled mess.

The crowd cheered, gasped and whistled, while The Hound was heard over it all, laughing heartily at his brother's defeat. Ser Loras trotted to the end of the lists, straight in his saddle, with his lance still unbroken. The commons cheered wildly for him.

Ser Gregor came quickly to his feet in a rage, calling to his squire, "My sword." His squire scrambled, bringing him his gigantic sword, as the stallion pulled itself to it's feet. With an overhead stroke, Ser Gregor nearly cut the horse's head clean off, and the stallion stumbled, screaming as it died. The cheers of the crowd turned instantly into screams, and Ser Gregor advanced quickly on Loras, clearly enraged. "Stop him!" Ned shouted, but his voice was lost in the roar of screams as everyone shouted or yelled, and beside Ned, Sansa was crying.

Ser Loras called for his own sword, and his squire ran to him, holding out his sword, but was knocked aside by The Mountain. Not stopping, Ser Gregor made to grab at the reins of Loras' mare, but she reared, and nearly kicked Loras off, though he barely held his seat. But then Ser Gregor brought his sword overhead in a savage two handed blow that took the boy in the chest and sent him flying from his saddle, rolling in the dirt, stunned.

The courser sped off in a panic, leaving Ser Loras, stunned in the dirt, defenseless against the enraged Clegane. With murder in his eyes, Gregor raised his sword overhead with both hands, and prepared a killing blow. As the sword crested, and the crowd held it's breath, a hand grabbed the massive knight, and tore him away from Ser Loras, who rolled away and to his feet, running away from his attempted killer.

The Mountain spun around in a fury, and swung his sword in an arc to kill the man who stopped him, but the blow was knocked away by the sword of The Hound, though it was not The Hound who wielded it, but Ser Raymont Baratheon, who turned the blow. Gregor hammered blow after blow against Raymont, who stopped each blow, matching the strength of the giant of a man. It was only a couple of seconds that the two dueled, The Mountain using all of his rage in an attempt to bash Raymont down, before Raymont stepped forward into an overhead strike, shouldered The Mountain off balance, and ran him through, straight through his chest, shoving the sword of his brother up to the hilt, right through the heart.

With a sickening squelch, Raymont kicked the dying Mountain free from his borrowed blade, spun the blade in an arc, and cut the man's head off. There was nothing but stunned silence from everyone in the crowd, as Raymont threw the blade at the feet of The Hound, who was staring at his dead brother, no emotion on his face. With that, Raymont made to leave, pushing past Ser Barriston Selmy, who made to stop him, before the king called out, "Let him go." The Kingsguard looked questioningly at his King, but followed the order, and let Raymont leave unharassed.

Ser Loras walked before the king, dressed in a simple linen doublet, favoring his chest where The Mountain had struck him, "Your brother saved my life, and The Mountain surely meant to kill me, attempted murder warrants death, Your Grace. For saving my life, I forfeit the tourney, and the day is his."

The crowd cheered, and at one time attempted to chant something about a storm, though it was indiscernible through the general roar. As the crowd began to disband, Ned watched as Raymont's band of knights and squires ran quickly from the stands, no doubt heading to Raymont's pavilion to speak with him. He had just killed one of the most fearsome knight in the Seven Kingdoms, who's strength was matched only by his own cruelty, and who was fiercely loyal to Lord Tywin Lannister. 'There will be repercussions to this, and he still won the tournament, which means I am bound to name him commander of the gold cloaks. This is dangerous territory now, Lord Tywin may seek retribution for the death of his bannerman.'

As Ned walked away with Sansa beside him, he wanted nothing more than to be in the tent with Raymont and Renly, and to speak with Raymont. 'It will have to wait,' Ned thought, as he noticed that the only person that had walked with Sansa and himself was Peter Baelish, who was holding polite conversation with Sansa.

The tent was completely silent, as Raymund Connington made quick work, getting Raymont out of his armor, which was an impressive feat, with over two dozen people crammed into the tent. They were all waiting for Raymont to speak, to acknowledge the fact that he had just killed Gregor Clegane, The Mountain Who Rides. Instead, he said nothing, until he was free from his armor, and faced all of his companions.

Raymont was about to speak, when his brother Renly let out a laugh as he walked into the tent, holding the champion's purse out in front of him, "Well done, Ray! You killed the gods damned Mountain, saved Loras Tyrell from certain death, and won 40,000 gold dragons." Renly had a broad smile on his face, and was clearly enjoying himself, but when Raymont saw Renly, his clear expression turned to a frown.

Raymont grabbed the purse from Renly, who pushed his way through several squires to stand before Raymont, "You've given me my money, now get out, Renly."

Renly feigned a hurt look, "Kicking out your own brother so soon? Ray, grant me some courtesy, I am your Lord. And besides, I had a very interesting conversation on my way here, that I would like to talk to you about." He glanced backwards at the dozens of men behind him, "Probably best to be a little more private, though."

Ray shook his head, "These are my men, my friends and brothers, I trust them all to keep my secrets, and yours, as well. Most of the men in here are sworn to House Baratheon, and if they are not, they are loyal to each other. Speak."

Renly's smile slipped slightly, he was used to speaking an order, directly or not, and having it followed immediately, "As you prefer. On my way here, I was interrupted by some lad from the Reach, with a message from your new friend, Ser Loras. He expresses his gratitude for saving his life, and said that in return, he will have a word his grandmother, who will have a word with her nephew, who will have a word with his son, and there will be no more trouble like what occurred this last night."

The message was clear, Loras would ensure that Horas Redwyne never bothered him again, but all Ray could think about, was the sight of finding Gladden's body, with his throat slit, who had been one of the first to join his band, who had been a constant companion, a friend, a brother. But still, Raymont was headstrong, but he knew he could not afford to antagonize the Tyrells, who would probably assume that by chastising the man who had had his friend murdered, justice would be had. But Horas Redwyne would die, but for now, Ray would feign his gratitude.

Renly stayed for only a brief moment longer, clearly uncomfortable, surrounded by a number of who were his sworn banner men. Silence reigned once again in the tent, still none of his companions had said a word, so finally Ray addressed them, "So, I killed The Mountain, and was awarded 40,000 dragons for it. The beast of a man deserved death, if any of the rumors told about him are true, but he was fiercely loyal to Tywin Lannister. I am now in a dangerous position, but I am the King's brother, and within the day, if Eddard Stark holds true to his word, I will be named the new Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks.

"The city watch is a pitiful excuse of corrupt, poorly-trained men, but they hold a lot of power within the city of King's Landing, as the most numerous force of men in the capitol. I aim to restructure the Gold Cloaks, retrain every man, drive out those who are corrupt, or inept, and I have about 85,000 gold dragons to get it done.

"I ask for the help of each of you, in this task. Gladden Wylde was my friend, and like a brother to me, as each of you are, whether you are a knight or a squire. He was murdered, as most of you know, though it likely by the order of Horas Redwyne, heir to The Arbor, in retribution for when I accidentally killed his elder twin in a joust. It was to seek justice for Gladden, that I asked Lord Eddard Stark to name me Commander of the City Watch, if I won the Hand's Tourney. My brother will most certainly approve, and I will begin to make reforms in the watch. There is nothing that I can do to Horas Redwyne, but what I can do, is begin to make sure that there is a competent guard here in King's Landing, that will prevent such deaths.

"This is probably the most noble thing I will ever do in my life, and I ask for the help of each of you. You may join me in the Gold Cloaks, or you may simply help as I establish myself. But from this point, it is most likely that this companionship is over, depending on how many of you stay with me, here in King's Landing. Perhaps many of you will continue on in a company, traveling to tournaments and amassing more money, and striking out to gain fame, but I would ask each of you to help me here. Many of you are heirs to keeps, castles and lordships, and I ask that those of you that can spare it, or manage it, bring men here to the capitol. "

It was Donnel Swann who broke the silence, "I will help you in this, and I would swear to follow your commands, though I have to wonder why you wish for men to brought in from other lands, to serve as guards here in King's Landing?"

Raymont expected the question, and answered quickly, "I trust not a single man that is in the city watch right now. I want to expel every man from the guard, and begin fresh, with men from The Storm Lands and The Vale, men with proper training, who we all can trust. From there, with a core of capable and trust worthy men, I will take in former members of the guard who prove themselves, and hire from among the citizens and commons of King's Landing. The guard needs a new start, this is a Baratheon Dynasty, and yet the city is guarded by the same corrupt, inept guard that was here when the Targaryen's were in power."

Donnel nodded in acceptance of that, "I will go as soon as I can, then, and bring men of the guard at Stonehelm, my Lord father could easily spare three dozen men from the barracks."

What followed was a flood of vows from his companions, the bastards or low-born swore to serve in his new city watch, and those who were heirs, or relatives of lords in the Stormlands, Emmon Cuy and Alyn Estermont, or The Vale, like Ser Robar Royce, swore to return to their homes, and return in time with anywhere from a dozen men, to Raymund, Raymont's squire, who promised to return with no less than 50 men from Griffon's Roost.

It would be an odd thing, Raymont though, for other people to hear that Ser Raymont Baratheon would be Commander of the City Watch, with a dozen knights serving him in the guard. There would no doubt be a wave of unrest, as the City Watch was filled with Stormlanders, but Raymont believed that a Baratheon king deserved Stormlanders guarding him, when at the current moment, King's Landing was guarded mostly by Lannister guards, or the Gold Cloaks, who were under Janos Slynt, a greedy man who would side with whoever had the most money, who were the Lannisters.

The situation in King's Landing worried Raymont, but with the help of Eddard Stark, and a reformed City Watch, he would feel a lot safer about the security of his brothers, himself, and the entire Realm.


End file.
